


Affection

by thegayemu



Series: Brasskier's Tumblr Fics [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I don't even know how to tag this, No Beta, No Plot/Plotless, it's cute but like that's it, it's just substanceless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28787934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegayemu/pseuds/thegayemu
Summary: Yennefer is a little insecure, Jaskier is drunk, and they're both very cute.This is a substanceless, purely self-indulgent soft-followup to my fic Crazy.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Brasskier's Tumblr Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097822
Kudos: 9





	Affection

**Author's Note:**

> It's another one of my random little written for tumblr fics. I was depressing myself working on a serious WIP so I wrote this instead. It's kinda a followup to [this fic,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627284/) but it's not necessary. 
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr :)](https://brasskier.tumblr.com/)

Yennefer liked watching him perform, was even willing to admit it now, and as she rested her chin in her palm and watched in enraptured silence she'd occasionally catch herself wondering what Geralt thought when he sat and watched. (That was, if he bothered to stick around. She knew better than to ask, and settled for the assumption that he had to, at least occasionally, if for no reason other than to keep him out of trouble.)

They used to keep up this game at first, months ago, wherein she'd pretend she wasn't listening, Jaskier would pretend she wasn't there, and they'd carry on almost like strangers. The way he slid so easily into the routine gave her some clue as to how those evenings went with Geralt. She tried to tell herself she didn't care. 

The first time she heard _Her Sweet Kiss,_ she couldn't help but focus in, her head perking up, leaning further forward on her elbows as if closer proximity would grant her some kind of intimate access to the lyrics. He caught her staring, and was equally powerless to stop the bittersweet grin that tugged at the corner of his lips. That night on, she stopped pretending not to listen, and he'd stop pretending to ignore her, and they shifted from strangers to some odd sort of friends.

He liked watching her work too, which she never quite understood. What she did wasn't made for entertainment, nor was it particularly spectacular and capital-R Romantic like Geralt's line of work. But even for the most mundane of tasks, like brewing her potions, he'd sprawl himself across the lumpy inn mattress, drop his chin into folded hands, and watch in the kind of reverent silence he reserved exclusively for moments like these. And, considering he was at the very least quiet, she let him. 

It was late, but not terribly so, when Jaskier finished his set and sauntered back to their booth. She smiled into her tankard as he slid in next to her, fitted himself against her side, and tucked his head to her chest. He was pleasantly warm, glowing with the excitement of performance, and reeked of ale.

"Aren't there enough pretty women for you to impress?" She prodded, shifting herself into a more comfortable position, snaking an arm around his shoulders. This was a new development, and she didn't need to ask to know Geralt would've never tolerated this. A month ago _she_ never would've. 

"Yes," he mumbled into her collarbone on the tail end of a yawn. "But you're the prettiest." She pressed her knuckles to her lips in an attempt to bite back the chuckle threatening in the back of her throat. This was _definitely_ new. 

"You've definitely had enough," she remarked after a moment of contemplation, wrapping her fingers around his and carefully prying the tankard from his hands. He doesn't protest more than a tepid whine half-buried in her neck. The scared, irrational, human little part of her told her she should be concerned. That she should brush a hand across his forehead, as if fever or drunkenness were the only feasible explanations for why he might want to spend his evening with _her_ instead of a tavern of beautiful women with decidedly less baggage. Rationally, she knew Jaskier was just like this, openly and unabashedly affectionate, and at times a little bit odd.

"I'm just tired," he whispered, pressing further into the fabric of her dress, as if he could read her thoughts. He tilted his head back, their eyes meeting for a split second before he reached up and pressed a light kiss on her jaw, the best he could muster from his current position. When he pulled back again he was grinning, teeth showing and all, naked and unperformative. "How many times do I have to kiss you to convince you I care?" She wondered, not for the first time, how he always managed his most profound and heartfelt words drunk and half-asleep.

"I know." She brought her hand down to ruffle through his hair, dropping a peck on his forehead. It was cathartic, in a sense, his wordless understanding, having someone around to lay the depths of her soul bare before, someone who knew her as intimately as she knew him. For a quiet moment in which she assumed he'd fallen asleep she allowed herself to stroke his cheek and simply enjoy his presence in the dull chatter of the tavern that surrounded them. 

"I can… do that some more, you know. Upstairs," he murmured eventually, and though she couldn't see enough of his face she knew, invariably, he had to be winking. 

"As much as I'd love that," she replied, shifting and tugging him upright with her. "You need to get some sleep." He nodded gingerly, scooting over and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"In the morning?" He shot her a pleading smirk, and this time she couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her as he dipped a hand down to scoop up his lute.

"In the morning." She motioned for him to get up, interlacing her fingers with his as they made their way to the stairs. He huffed something between a laugh and affirmation. Draped in moonlight and curled up together in the too-small bed, she silently admitted to herself that she was definitely looking forward to morning. Being cared for, as herself and not for what she could do, and without the emotional constipation of a witcher, was strange to her, but decidedly pleasant. She could get used to this, she thought as she finally drifted to sleep. _She could definitely get used to this._

**Author's Note:**

> btw I'm doing a bad things happen bingo board on my tumblr, so come drop by and send requests and stuff. Details are on my pinned post. :)
> 
> Speaking of tumblr, this fic was written for [my Tumblr](https://brasskier.tumblr.com/)


End file.
